His Secret Wisdom
by tainted-angel21
Summary: His doom was inevitable, his choices ensured it. His story tragic. But what if he made different choices? What if instead of being doomed, he prevailed? His new found Wisdom would ensure that he did prevail. She knew of things no one did and her sole purpose was to make sure he triumphed. In this whole mess, somehow she became his and his alone. Rhaegar Targaryen X OC
1. Prologue

Hello Readers! I know, I am being incredibly unfair by starting all sorts of new stories instead of finishing the old ones, but I can't help it. New plots are swamping my head and i just need to get them out. For example, I have two other Game of Thrones/A song of Ice and Fire fics started and I plan on putting them here in a few days or even weeks. But this story came to me in a dream, believe it or not and I had to write it all out.

I know this is an unusual character and there will be an OC with him and I am going completely against canon here. So sorry to the Lyanna and Rhaegar fans, but this will be Rhaegar and OC fic through and through.I hope you like it, Please Review. Happy Reading!

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**Disclaimer: I do not own A Song Of Ice and Fire...**

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**His Secret Wisdom**

**Prologue**

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He looked at the old croon and frowned skeptically. He did not believe in such things, but the norm for him had always been to pursue knowledge and there were many different, unbelievable and impossible knowledges in the world which remained so until proven and if proven then there was no question of belief, it became a fact. He was there to pursue such a knowledge, his curiosity led him there to the old croon.

He was fifteen and believed himself to have a sound sense of judgment even if his ancestry said otherwise. To say that his family was famous for its eccentricities would be putting it mildly. His lips tightened, his father was after all the Mad King. He tilted his head to the side, his silver blonde hair cascading down his broad shoulder; his cool lilac eyes assessed the cackling blind croon before him.

His voice was soft, confident and deep as he asked, "What does your vision say about me then?"

The croon and he were alone and the dark walls of Dragonstone echoed their voices, his voice deep and melodious while hers was harsh and shrill. She kept on cackling, her wrinkled face stretching into a smile, she taunted her cloudy eyes moving, unseeing all over him, "Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, son of Aerys II, Prince of Dragonstone…your future…Aha ha ha ha…"

Her cackling did not stop at all. It took a special kind of patience to humor the beggar he asked to bring before him. It was said that this croon saw things no one did, things of the future that hadn't even happened, that could happen and how the future could be changed for the better or for the very worst. There were frauds all over the kingdom who claimed of such things so that they could fool naïve people into emptying their pockets. But this one was different. She never spoke for money and she never searched people out. In fact, no one could get her to look into their futures unless she wanted to and it was even more mysterious that she could never be found unless she wanted to be found.

Rhaegar had seen her that day, looking at him with her blind eyes, cackling madly on the streets, so he had asked one of his men to bring her to him. She clearly had something to say to him, of that much he was sure of. The croon sat down on the floor and rocked back and forth in some unknown rhythm that only she heard, a few sharp giggles escaping her chapped lips every now and then. Rhaegar rested his chin on a closed fist and patiently and attentively continued to watch her.

Finally, she spoke, her voice was rough, low and sinister, "There are consequences to every little action and every consequences changes the outcomes. Every action and every consequence, every choice and every decision, all of them are variables in their own rights. Variables that affect the future. Your future, Prince Rhaegar is doomed."

Her words were absolute and those cloudy eyes of hers seemed to be boring into his own lilac ones, but he still knew that she couldn't see a thing. Her words evoked a strange sort of panic in him, but he swallowed it and calmly asked, "Doomed? How?"

She laughed a bitter laugh, "The choices you make will make the future. You are the start of everything. You will start something that will be the very stepping stone of utter chaos and the destruction of everything."

Suddenly, all the humor of the situation was gone. He felt like someone had placed a heavy stone upon his chest and he couldn't breathe or bear its weight. He asked hesitantly, "What choice?"

The croon's withered hands clutched her filthy cloak as she sneered, "You think you are wise and hold all the knowledge. You think you make the right choices, the noble decisions. Yet you are blind and ignorant."

Rhaegar couldn't take it anymore. He slapped his hand on the arm rest and demanded, "Stop speaking in riddles. Tell me in plain tongue."

She let out an amused cackle so shrill that he felt a shiver travel down his spine. She spoke, "They say Targaryens are only capable of either madness or greatness. You see very plainly what is wrong with the king, yet you do nothing and you plan on doing nothing. He will burn everything to the ground and you know it."

Rhaegar knew exactly what she meant. But it was his father she spoke of and also the King of the realm. It was treason to speak of such things. He couldn't betray his kin or his king and in this case both were the same person. He growled at the croon even though guilt and agreement with her statements prickled his skin, "That is my lord father and the king you speak of, woman. Bite your tongue before someone rips it off."

Her laughter this time was like screams as she retorted, "He would burn me alive and you know it, Prince. You know it and you know how worse he is going to get. You know it but you turn your head."

Rhaegar seethed but he couldn't say anything to that. He knew how his father was and how his poor, sweet mother suffered. She spoke ferociously, "You follow the path of knowledge. But you will gain no wisdom. In time you will make vows you will not keep in favor of following your desire and curiosity for something which belongs to you not. That will be the beginning of the end. The end for you, your family and your people. Then the descent of doom will come down slowly and surely. Thousands will die and all because of your ignorance and bad judgment."

This time he was confused, but each of her word rang loudly in his ears, the sheer strength in her words made him wonder if they were the truth. He started, "I do not…"

She sneered once more, "Fire and blood. Madness and screams. You make the right choices and you, Prince Rhaegar could save everything and everyone. You can be the savior instead of the bringer of doom."

Rhaegar did not want to believe her or any of the vile things she spoke of, but still a hoarse whisper left his lips, "How?"

She looked calm all of a sudden, her hands eased and she caressed the floor around her. The harsh lines on her face smoothed out a little and she answered him in a husky voice, "Be the greatness your father failed to become. Become a better man, a better friend, a better husband, a better father and a better ruler than your father. Learn to lead and fight for which is right for your people. Do not make promises you know in your heart that you do not want to keep. Do not chase after which is not yours. The wild-wolf is never meant for you, the wolf belongs to someone else and entwining your destiny with that wolf will be the beginning of the destruction. Stay true to your path and save your people."

Rhaegar's mind raced as he contemplated everything, he told her firmly, his eyes searching her for more definitive answers, "None of this makes sense. What am I meant to do then? Fight my own father for the throne? Who is the wolf?"

She gave him a small sly smile, "If you think fighting your father for the throne will save your people then do so. The choice is yours to make. You still have time, think it over very carefully. There many battles and wars that will come before you, Prince."

He opened his mouth to ask, but she interrupted, "Battles and wars of greed, ambition, power, vengeance and kingdoms will come first and if you are wise enough, you shall conquer them. Then after decades will come the darkest of times. You and everyone will have to fight things which are far more than petty human squabbles. Things of cold, ice and winter and that reside in the darkest of nights, all of those horrible mysterious things will come for every living soul and if you survive until then, you can help your people and many more defeat it all."

Rhaegar's hands formed fists against his thighs. His stomach churned; her words were imprinted in his mind as he asked, "What must I do to survive until then?"

The croon snorted, "Make the right choices."

Rhaegar snapped, "How if I don't know them?"

The croon cackled, her horrible voice were like nails against the skin, "If I made the choices for you then I would be the Queen and you my King Regent, Princeling. The choices are not before you yet, they will appear and when they do you will know. There still is time, until then prepare yourself to be a great leader and the man that your father is not."

Rhaegar glared at her, the fifteen year old felt the stubborn desire to unnerve her as she did him. He growled, "I could choose not to believe you."

She gave him a sinister smile and replied tauntingly, "Do so and nothing will change. Everything will happen as it was supposed to; you will make bad decisions and bring doom over everything and everyone. The only reason I am interfering is because I am curious to see if you could write your own fate differently if nudged towards the right path."

He sneered, "So this is your choice then? You plant seeds of doubt, suspicion, paranoia and fear of the unknown in my mind. You let me become mad with worry and fear. You watch as I slowly make a fool out of myself?"

She smirked darkly at him, "I do not have to do anything. I am helping as much as I am allowed to because I want to see a different outcome. Believe my word or not that is your choice to make."

Rhaegar demanded, "Can I rely on your visions? Will you swear your allegiance to me and make your gift available to me?"

Rhaegar sat back with a deep frown as he watched the croon rolling on the floor shrieking and panting in shrill laughter. She told him, completely out of breath, "Ignorant Prince! Did you not heed a word I said? The choices will be yours and the journey is yours. I am no one but a spectator and as it is, in the grand scheme of the universe, I do not exist. I have interfered enough by speaking to you now."

Rhaegar ran a hand through his nearly white hair, frustration about this entire meeting overwhelming him and started, "But how…"

The croon interrupted once more, her lips smiling her slyest smile yet, "Worry not, Prince. I may not be able to help you further or give you all the answers you seek. But I will give you something better; something that will be the greatest help you could only dream of having in the tough times coming."

Hope burned in Rhaegar's dark lilac eyes as he asked in all but a whisper, "What is it?"

The croon held a withered hand towards him, informed him smugly, "Five moons after your seventeenth namesday, your help shall appear in your chamber in a flash of red and thunder. Once you see the golden hues you will know instantly."

Rhaegar demanded, "What is it?"

The croon giddily whispered, "Wisdom. Wisdom shall appear. Wisdom will be yours."

Rhaegar had so many more questions. She increased his confusion, but before he could ask, a loud caw broke through the otherwise eerily silent room. He jumped and turned to look at the window where a very large crow perched staring at him. In the blink of an eye it flew away, Rhaegar glared at the stupid bird and turned to the croon with more questions, but he was left feeling petrified. Where the croon was sitting on the floor, there was nothing. Nothing but a long black feather.

For moments he felt frightened and sat there unnerved. Finally he stood up and walked over to where the feather innocently lay on the ground. Rhaegar swallowed hard and picked up the feather. It was soft and shiny.

He jumped once more when he heard that familiar loud cackling of the croon fill the room. He turned around quickly, looking at every corner of the room, searching for her, but he was the only one in there. The laughter faded away and left the pale haired prince feeling overwhelmed with emotions. His blood ran cold when he saw that his hand was empty, the feather he was clutching so tightly had disappeared right from his hand. He cursed the croon and her visions. Now, he had to wait for two more years before he got his answers and solved this problem. He had always been a pursuer of knowledge but this time he had to wait to gain wisdom.


	2. Chapter One

Hello Readers! Here is the next chapter. Things really start to get in motion for the entire plot line. Lots of Rhaegar and the inner workings of his mind and the entrance of a new character yet to be identified. I hope you like it and Please do Review. Happy Reading!

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**Disclaimer: I do not own A song of ice and fire...**

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**His Secret Wisdom**

**Chapter One**

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He had been counting off days after that unnerving meeting with the croon. He had searched high and low for the croon after that day. He needed to know more, but as it was always with her, she was nowhere to be found. In fact, no one had ever seen her again. No one ever claimed or even talked about a blind, strange, intimidating and more than a little mad old croon telling them of their futures while cackling.

It was as if she never existed and Rhaegar had looked everywhere. She did not want to be found so nobody found her and that was that. But Rhaegar remembered everything and the croon's harsh voice still echoed those words in his every waking moment and his tired dreams. Her words were monumental and he knew and acknowledged that.

He had spent the next two years pouring over books, scrolls and all manners of texts considering any kind of threat that may come to the kingdoms and all the history of nearly all the prominent Houses of Westeros. He paid very close attention to his father, King Aerys' actions and manner of ruling. What he observed made him sick with disgust and boiled his blood. King Aerys was going to burn the kingdoms because it pleased his deluded mind and he was sure of that. The croon's words, fire and blood, madness and screams, those words constantly rang in his ears every time he thought of his father. It was very clear; he had to do something about it. His father couldn't be allowed to sit on the throne and do what he was doing. But it was too soon, he needed more time, Rhaegar decided.

He threw himself in his studies, his research and to learn all manners of warfare and strategies. He needed to become the leader and the warrior who could lead a rebellion against his own father. From what he had come to learn, nearly all of the Houses of the Seven Kingdoms would back him if it meant that King Aerys would be dethroned and as Rhaegar had the right to the throne, they would gladly accept him as the new king. But he needed more time, more experience and more knowledge. He told himself that he had to wait regardless of what was already happening in the kingdoms. He had to wait for what he was to receive. The croon said so after all. His wisdom was coming; he just had to pass the time until then.

He trained every day and he planned on becoming a knight, after all what was a warrior if he couldn't even become a knight first. His iron determination and the quiet fire burning in his eyes were clear for everyone to see when he trained. Something had changed in him and every man around him knew that. The melancholy that had shrouded him everywhere he went had vanished into thin air. That depression in his solemn eyes and the sad little twist on his lips were gone and replaced by calculative, expressive eyes with a brilliant mind shinning through and those lips smiled sometimes, smirked most of the times and spoke to everyone. It was as if the prince had woken from a slumber or someone had breathed life into him.

Rhaegar had made Dragonstone his permanent home with occasional visits to King's Landing. His intentions for distancing himself from King's Landing had several well founded reasons behind it. He needed to keep calm and not act against his father; staying where his father's cruelty and madness brewed like a violent storm at every opportunity would only make it impossible for him to remain so.

Also, his research and studies needed to be kept a secret, and as it was there were no secrets in King's Landing. His father's paranoia would soon be forced upon him if he stayed too long near him. Also, by not being anywhere near King's Landing, he successfully avoided being caught up in any of the conspiracies and politics of the court. Then there was the matter of his own resolve, as long as he distanced himself from his father, the memory of those scant few years when his father was sane and a loving father washed away. He always needed to remember what his father had become.

He researched all sorts of things and tried very desperately to associate his research with the words that had spilled from the croon's mouth. Screams and madness, he was sure that that was a huge indication towards his father's progression into complete insanity and how he would force his cruelty onto others. His father was becoming more and more of a fearsome tyrant.

He took women from families, good families, married or innocent, it did not matter to him, and he took which ever woman caught his eye and forced his filthy sadistic desires upon them. From what he had heard and saw with his own eyes, his stomach revolted and wrath burned in his blood, but he silently observed, his father left those women in conditions which left them scarred for life both from the inside and outside.

He executed whomever he pleased, nobles, servants, bastards, commoners, it matter not, whomever he thought offended him even in the slightest, he executed them in the most gruesome manner imaginable. They were sliced, burned, drowned, suffocated, beheaded, whichever manner his father felt like in that moment.

Mostly, he was obsessed with fire and liked to watch people burn and laugh at their screams. He had also found out what the croon meant exactly by the words fire and blood, his father had an unhealthy and growing fascination with a substance called wildfire. His father had employed many pyromancers expressly to improve and create as much wildfire they could.

Rhaegar had obtained a very small vial himself to see what horror his father had thought up. The liquid was so volatile and could burn anything, it was liquid fire and nearly inextinguishable. The slightest of heat or spark could set off all of those hundreds of jars of wildfire up in the most explosive of flames which could burn over water and would burn until nothing was left.

There was a tiny childish part of him which initially thought maybe, just maybe his father could be cured of his madness, that he could be shown the right way and that everything would be fine. But one had to only look at King Aerys II to violently jerk away in fear. He was not only a monster on the inside; he looked like one on the outside as well.

His fear for blades resulted in those long thin hair and beard, his hands made him look like he was some mythical monster from a children's story book with those thin white fingers and frighteningly long nails, his eyes always looked like they glowed with evil and that mouth always twisted up in a permanent sneer or snarl and the worst was that awful mad laughter of his. The servants and the nobles had a saying, if someone heard King Aerys' laughter ringing throughout the castle then some poor soul must be writhing before him in pain begging for death.

Rhaegar thought of his mother most often. She was the most frequent victim to his father's cruelty and she bore it all with a Queen's grace and the true loyalty of a wife. Rhaella had no other choice after all. It tore Rhaegar apart on the inside, to know and hear of the things his father put his mother through. But the last time he had all but dragged his mother to a solitary corner to tell her that he would smuggle her out of King's Landing, she had pleaded him to not do anything.

His traitorous mind would never let him forget his mother's hoarse voice imploring him to leave her be, that she had been bearing such actions from his father well before he was born and now she was used to it, she could live what little was left of her life with the same treatment. She would kill herself if his father accused Rhaegar of treason simply because he couldn't bear to see a few bruises on his mother's skin. She told him that someday the reign of his father would end and then no man or woman would ever have to face the cruelty at the hands of her husband. She had her hopes and dreams set on her son, Rhaegar becoming a king that would wipe away all the taint upon the Targaryen name that Aerys was leaving behind.

Rhaegar couldn't utter a word as his mother's haunted lilac eyes searched his own for a promise. She could bear a lot and for all these years she had suffered all but she could not and would not bear the loss of her own son. She had gone nearly hysterical at the very idea of her son rebelling against Aerys. She believed that her son, Rhaegar would not survive if he went against someone as evil as Aerys. She did not even want to take the chance of her son coming to harm at the hands of her husband. She wanted her son to hide out somewhere far away from her husband's paranoia and cruelty until he would die and then her son would be safe to take what was rightfully his.

Rhaegar knew after that conversation that he had to let his mother handle herself for a little while. He couldn't risk setting everything unbalanced because he hastily made a move against his father. He hated to admit it, but there was truth to his mother's hysterics. He berated himself bitterly, what kind of a man was he when he couldn't even save his own mother from such abuse. He noticed and he knew, his mother's mind was fragile, much more so than her body. She wouldn't and couldn't survive standing beside him this early on in the plans he had. Her fears had a much stronger grip on her than the hope she let herself be numb to.

He wished desperately in his heart for some way that he could help his mother, but the only answer that came to mind was patience. He had to wait, sacrifices were made in wars and every one had their own roles to fulfill. His mother had told him that she could tolerate his father's cruelty for years to come until his father passed away just so that Rhaegar could be safe. So he hoped and hoped with everything in him that instead of the decades his mother planned on suffering on his behalf, she could hold on strong for just a few years.

He swore to himself that he would save her from him as soon as the croon's words came true and he made the right choices to ensure the right future. A future without fire and blood, madness and screams. A bright future, a prosperous future and a future where his people could live without the fear of their own king.

There were so many things to decide and prepare for. He had time still and he had to utilize that time to the fullest. With the precious time he had been granted he had to achieve many goals if he intended to free the Seven Kingdoms from his father's tyranny. He had to reach out to all the Houses very, very discreetly and see which ones supported his campaign and his right to rule.

Then, there was the matter of gathering his own army. He had to placate all those whom his father had harmed, humiliated and frightened, then and only then could he ask them to support him in exchange of his solemn promise that he would never again repeat his father's mistakes. He had to make the proper alliances, not everyone could be trusted or be the right choice for an alliance.

His inner circle would have to be very carefully considered and vetted. He could not afford to have some overly ambitious, greedy and power hungry House supporting him only to later on own him as their puppet, or worse yet back-stab him. He had to study his own father's armies and battle strategies as well as the prominent lands one had to win over. He had to plan his own war strategies as well as how to have advantages over certain situations.

He needed to learn more about espionage and subterfuge. He needed to learn how to spot out traitors and spies and plant his own trustworthy spies in his father's court. So many things could go wrong and he was nervous about all of it, but the magnitude of the mission and responsibility he had taken on his shoulders eased his nerves; he had to succeed, failure was not an option.

He looked out the balcony of his bedchambers; anybody else in his position would have considered it a bad omen. It had been raining constantly and unrelentingly for three days straight, there was never a moment of clear sky or sunlight, the winds were chilly and howled like wolves, lightening cracked loudly every now and then. But despite everything, all Rhaegar could feel was excitement bubbling within his heart. He felt the eager pangs of anticipation, as if something big was coming his way. His instincts screamed it and not even his Targaryen blood was bothered by the chilly, wet weather.

The feelings in him were so strong that he could not even make himself focus on his readings and books. Writing and composing songs and anything musical had been the last thing on his mind. He couldn't get inspired or feel the emotions needed to practice his music. Music which soothed him felt dry and lifeless. His worries and stress over the croon's warnings had taken over every bit of his mind, heart and soul. Nothing helped and he constantly felt dazed. He knew it was time and he was more than a little impatient for the croon's words to come true. It had been five moons and seventeen days after his seventeenth namesday, so why hadn't he received his gift, his wisdom already. How much did he have to wait?

He spent the entire day pacing in his chamber, thinking and rethinking the croon's words, checking and rechecking if he had missed something, some clue as to what he had to do or how he was to receive his gift, his wisdom. More than once he scowled in agitation, what the bloody hell was wisdom anyway? Some scripture, some book, some person who could see visions, visions he might start receiving, what the hell did she mean by wisdom? How could wisdom only belong to him? Wisdom was something that was free and could be shared with anyone who was open to receiving it.

His usually smoothed out silver blonde hair had been mussed in a mess because of the many times he had been running his hands through them in agitation and sheer nerves. He had discarded his tunic long ago, the strong fire burning in the hearth kept him from getting too cold, but the chill from the rain and the winds soothed his naked skin. It was well after midnight, yet he felt far too restless to sleep.

He frowned; he still hadn't been able to figure out who the mysterious wolf in the croon's warnings was. He needed to know the identity of the wolf. The only helpful confirmed fact that could be taken from the croon's words was that his help would appear in his chambers. The destination was set, but the circumstance and the timing were not. Red flash and thunder, what could they be?

He looked out into the night sky, the waves were crashing loudly and wildly against the castle walls; the winds howled and the rain pelted down, still no sign of any thunder and he did not even begin to understand what red flash exactly meant.

He pondered with his circumstances a little more; he stared into the fire and sipped slowly on the sweet, yet potent wine. He deeply regretted the way his father had humiliated and had embittered the relations between the Targaryens and the Lannisters. Frankly, he didn't care about the Lannisters or their money; he cared about the alliance with one Tywin Lannister.

He admired Tywin Lannister. The man was brilliant and knew exactly how to run a House, no a kingdom with brutal efficiency and make profits and progress that couldn't even possibly predicted. He had a vision, the much needed patience and the sound and carful mind that accomplished goals. Rhaegar had read reports of when Tywin used to be the Hand. All the people who had said that it was Tywin who ran the kingdoms was right, even if his own father was offended by it. His father's madness was far too consuming, so it fell on Tywin to run the kingdom and look after its interests and he did so extraordinarily.

The whole affair about him not being able to or wanting to free his father from when he was held captive was all lies, and he blamed his own father for foolishly and arrogantly storming into enemy and hostile grounds without the proper backup. Tywin had not lost his cool back then and as usual he had patiently and efficiently worked to free his king. His father hadn't seen it that way. His father was jealous of Tywin's brilliance and the grudging respect and admiration Tywin had earned from most of the nobility and the commoners. Instead of being at ease with having a reliable and responsible Hand to manage the King's affairs, his father had become spiteful of him and did everything he could to humiliate Tywin Lannister.

Rhaegar's sharp jaw tightened as he grinded his teeth in disgusted rage, his father's worst offense against Tywin Lannister was the obscene and obsessive lust for Tywin's wife, Joanna Lannister. There was no limit his father did not cross to get Joanna Lannister, only by Tywin's overly vigilant nature and clever manipulation did Joanna always remain unharmed and untouched by his father.

The things he had heard, how his father shamelessly tried time and time again to abduct Joanna Lannister or invoke that disgusting and preposterous King's law, of how the King could have any woman he wanted. He was so deeply ashamed of his father's actions and more times than he could count, he wanted to apologize to Tywin Lannister for it, but Tywin was a man who never forgot or forgave a slight and this was something Rhaegar knew Tywin would make his father pay for dearly. Tywin would never accept an apology from Aerys Targaryen's son for Aerys' own mistakes.

Rhaegar hoped that he could form an alliance with Tywin in the future. He seemed like the man who would happily join the rebellion against Aerys, but he was also a very cunning man. Tywin would never join a losing side, which only meant the Tywin would keep himself on neutral grounds until one side should more promise and then would join the side which was winning by a land slide. Rhaegar had every intention of showing Tywin how he could outmaneuver and beat his father's forces.

The negotiations with Tywin would be difficult and he knew that. Tywin would most definitely demand for a heavy price for his alliance and the chance of him becoming a puppeteer controlling his every move after he took the throne. It would be the justified payback for every slight Aerys Targaryen had made against him. Rhaegar frowned, he would have to pay for his father's mistakes, that was inevitable.

Despite the Lannister's neutral stand many of the southern Houses would join Rhaegar, because the south had many Targaryen supporters. That is, the right Targaryen supporter, they supported Rhaegar. Aerys had started to scare them. The same was said for many less prominent houses all over the Seven Kingdoms.

Then there were the Tyrells, the whole lot of them were ambitious to the bone, despite their flowery disposition. They would remain absolutely neutral until the very end of the war. Hoping for an alliance with them would prove to be a waste of time, that is until he took the throne and sat in it. Then they would come with smiles, laughs, charms, their famous roses, trinkets, money and of course a long line of young, pretty, fertile and unwed Tyrell girls.

The Baratheons were difficult to predict, but if properly dealt with, they would side with him. They wanted a better future, one without a tyrant breathing fire at them and making them live like paupers. They wanted to prosper and make Storm's End just as prestigious as Casterly Rock or The Highgardens, but to do so they needed for their King to let them prosper. Rhaegar knew he could have the Baratheon's behind him; he only needed to make his case to them and inspire them properly.

The Arryn's of the Vale, now he knew for sure that they would back him till the very end and then some more. Jon Arryn, the Lord Arryn of the Vale, he had a secret. He was very much against Aerys Targaryen, but he was fond of Rhaegar, at least until Rhaegar did not start showing the same signs of madness Aerys possessed in abundant. Jon Arryn would help him dethrone his father but only if he would get to keep a close eye on Rhaegar.

The Tullys, they would support Rhaegar if the North supported him. But it was known to him that the Tullys were getting sicker and sicker of Aerys Targaryen and his sadistic madness.

The Starks, now they had an impressive amount of people and bannermen with them. The Starks were honorable people before anything else and his father was paranoid about them, just like he was about the Lannisters. If Rhaegar managed to make his case to the Starks in the proper manner and he honestly got them to see that he had to dethrone his father, not for the throne or the greed for the Iron Throne, but to save all the people of the Seven Kingdoms from suffering at his father's hands, then the Starks would back him up without question. With them would come the Karstarks and all the other lesser houses of the north.

The Drone, now they…..

He was far too lost in his line of thought, so it made him jump in his seat and spill a little wine from the goblet he held in his hand when the loud thunder cracked and roared over the dark sky. Flashes of light made the dark of the night luminous for a moment at a time and one thunder after another hit across the sky. The sea before him roared and nothing could be overheard because of the monstrous cracks of the thunder.

It felt like the castle was quivering and the thunder had decided to rip the land below into pieces. It felt like some God was in a vengeful mood and had mercy for none. Rhaegar felt very, very uneasy all of a sudden and his skin prickled. He stood up slowly, and looked around the room in slight panic; there was this sudden aura of something in his room, as if his chamber was suddenly filled the presence of something unknown.

He could feel his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. For the sake of his sanity, he hurried to get his sword in his hand as he looked about in his large ominous chambers. He had been knighted not too long ago, mere months ago and he could defend himself against whatever appeared in his bedchambers in the deep of the night. With his sword clutched tight in his swordhand, he felt prepared for whatever it was that came for him. He told himself over and over again, it wasn't the Targaryen madness taking over him, there really was something in there with him. He could feel it in his bones, his instincts screamed it and the hair on the back of his neck stood up in warning.

He couldn't trust his senses all that well, his hearing was nearly impaired by the booming thunder outside, his nose felt cold and he could smell nothing but the rain, cold and the sea, his eyes played tricks on him because of the darkness, the white flashes of thunder, the candles, the fire and the ominous shadows of everything in his chambers. His body was on defense, he would cut down anything that came at him before it could reach his body. His dark lilac eyes looked at anything, everything and nothing.

Suddenly, he jumped once more and his heart pounded even harder. He grimaced and wildly looked about, his long silver blonde hair flying everywhere as he tried to find the source of his agitation and panic. She was nowhere. That thrice damned croon was nowhere in his room and he couldn't find a large crow either. But his chambers rang out with that familiar blood-chilling mad cackle that he had only heard from one person in his life: the blind croon.

The croon was nowhere within those four walls and he knew instantly that like that one time more than two years ago when the croon told him her visions, then she had disappeared room the room only to leave her mad cackle behind and she was doing the same now. Out of very slight respect and to show his welcome, he lowered his sword and stood up straight, although he did not let go of the sword. He breathed in and the out, calming himself, masking his expressions and prepared himself for the shock the croon was about to deal him with. He looked every bit the regal prince he was born to be, even though he was half naked and his hair was a mess.

He narrowed his eyes and waited with slight exasperation for that cackle to stop. Really, she could laugh till her lungs gave out and then some more. Then again the way she found glee in the impending misfortune of others, well who could blame her for laughing at the fool's mistakes the people around her made in sheer arrogance and ambition amongst other reasons?

Then came the biggest shock, shaking him to his very bones. There was a very large boom, as if his castle, The Dragonstone was under siege by warships that came by the sea. The walls, the ground, everything trembled and the prince had to regain his balance, his knees shook a little by the very vibration from the hit his castle walls suffered. His ears rang because of the loud noise. His sense told him otherwise, that it was all a trick of the mad old croon. There was no smoke, no screaming from the residents of the castle, no crumbling noises, no smell of dust, nothing and the thunder was still cracking outside.

He looked everywhere in what he knew was fear of the unknown coursing through his veins. His sword was once more tightly grasped in his hand. He knew for sure that whatever noise he heard and the trembling he felt, it was all him. Nobody else would have heard or felt it, except him. The croon loved to toy with minds. His eyes ran all over his walls wildly again and again. Then he saw it and what he saw paralyzed him to where he stood.

He froze in shock as the thunder outside the walls somehow appeared in the dark corner of his chamber. Thunder, flashes of white appearing in crooked lines again and again and then accompanying the white flashes was a deep menacing throbbing red flash. Again and again, in a hypnotizing pattern and he couldn't look away. His heart beat thrummed and a slow smile crossed his sensuous mouth. His eyes gleamed at the sight before him and all fear and panic left him completely.

Finally, after years and months of waiting, it came in thunder and flashes of red, his help, his wisdom. He watched with hope and confidence building in his chest as the flashes of red grew larger and larger, quickly looking like huge slashes left by claws on the dark, stone walls. It looked like some kind of animal was trying to maul and rip his wall down. It was something fearsome to look at accompanied by the large booming crack and roars of the thunder, but Rhaegar felt nothing but awe and excitement.

Suddenly, right before his eyes, there was an unexpected explosion of red light all over his room and he thought that the way his chambers lit up, someone must have noticed the ominous light of his chambers from afar. The light was so bright he had to shield his eyes, and then he felt it, the thrust of a huge force of wind towards him. Then a crash in his chambers, he barely managed to see some dark silhouette bust through his walls, thrown out and into a small table on the floor and tumbling into the wall on the other side with a loud crash. He heard very little hit on the floor, and the dull thud of the body hitting the table, the table crashing on the floor and then the collision with the wall. He winced, that had to hurt.

He blinked a few times to ease the stress on his eyes the light left them with. Hurt? Wait, was that a body in his chambers? He drew a sharp breath and scrambled over to the dark corner where he thought he saw a body hit the wall. There was a long, haggard, painful moan that made him clutch his sword and walk over there cautiously for the first look at the intruder.

He grabbed a nearby candlestick and crouched down. His lilac eyes widened as he looked the figure over in complete disbelief. It couldn't be. His face twisted into a frustrated grimace, it couldn't be, but it was. That mad old croon had played a trick on him once more. She had sent in his bedchambers in the dead of the night a girl and not just any girl, a bruised and battered girl in her strange underclothing.

He shook off his aggravation and made himself make observations of her, whatever rumors or harmful implications could be made of this most improper situation could be dealt with later on. She was a young woman, around his age seventeen or sixteen, hard to tell with the way she was. In the dark of the night and without sufficient light he couldn't tell most of her features or her coloring, but he could see that her skin was pale and hair dark. For the sake of propriety he knew he shouldn't look over her body with the way she was dressed, but his mind still took note of her physical attributes. She, he was sure was a lovely creature, but the questions remained, why was she there and what was her identity.

Her long dark hair covered her face so he couldn't see her properly, he warily leaned a bit closer to her to hear what she was murmuring about. Her voice was hoarse, dry, dazed and breaking, "Fuck…stupid old woman…sent to Westeros my lily-white ass…help…fuck, everything feels sore…what the fuck did she do? That's the last time I am helping anyone who looks certifiably crazy…god, what the fuck was she talking about? What were they?..."

Rhaegar had drawn back in shock and utter disbelief. What atrocious language and to be used by a young woman such as herself, the complete indecency of it left him feeling more than a little awkward. He was a knight and he was used to men and their crude language, in severe instances such profanities had slipped from his own lips also, but he had never heard a woman speak in such a way. At least not a woman of nobility and despite her clothing he knew that she was born of class, her soft unmarred skin, her hair, her healthy figure, they all indicated towards a family which provided for her very well. She did not know poverty and starvation. Some of her words might be unbecoming, but her accent was clear, her words did not slur and nor did they have the usual shortenings and slangs that commoners used.

He could hear the pain in her voice and his eyes softened at her sight, the poor girl, she was hurt and it was more than acceptable for her to use such language. When she was groaning and panting a little, trying to get a little awareness in herself, he thought of her words. Stupid old woman, he barely held in his snort, it couldn't be anyone but the croon and she must have done something to this poor girl. The girl didn't even know what the croon did to her and the croon had managed to injure her and he couldn't help but feel the surge of anger at the croon for her actions.

The girl couldn't even sit up properly and he couldn't assess the damage on her body in this dark corner, he needed to get her near the fire. He took the candle very close to her face and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. She visibly jumped, there was a sharp gasp and then a resulting pained moan, Rhaegar winced; she must have hurt something when he startled her. Her breaths increased and she was almost panting.

Before he could even ask her anything, she swiftly grabbed his hand with one of her delicate smaller hands in a move that shocked him frozen and made him groan out in pain. She had grabbed his wrist in some kind of defensive maneuver, with her thumb pressed against his wrist in a way that caused his wrist to feel a sharp pain which wasn't unbearable but it made his own survival instincts take not; the threat was clear, she could break his wrist if she wanted to, if he gave her a reason to.

If it had been anyone else and had been any other situation he would have gotten himself free and made it so that he had captured his attacker, even it meant fighting back. But this situation was very different and she was unique and he had to admit with a twinkle in his eyes, she had impressed him. She executed the move perfectly and clearly was not a damsel in distress; she had a good head on her shoulders too despite the traumatic experience she just went through. She did not trust him but she was ready to hear him out. The girl had very quick reflexes and an even quicker and calmer mind. Most women he knew did not possess those qualities, they would be screaming and bawling by now.

He watched her with rapt fascination as she slowly raised her head. She had managed to do the one thing many women before her had tried to do so desperately but failed miserably every time. She had managed to pique his curiosity. Everyone who knew Rhaegar knew that Rhaegar was a politely kind to women and very courteous, but he was always distant, cold and detached when it came to women. Everyone also knew how infamous Rhaegar's curiosity was, the man was a pursuer of knowledge and puzzles, mysterious, unanswered questions fascinated the man. This batter, bruised, improperly dressed, fighter of a woman had lit the candle of curiosity in him without even trying. Whether she wanted or not, be she sent to him by the croon or not, she had the complete and unwavering focus of Rhaegar. That is, until he figured her out.

He spoke, his deep sensual voice soothing and coaxing her, "Peace, my lady. I mean no harm to you in any manner. I only offer my help. You are injured."

What came from her mouth was a snarl and words dripping with such contempt masked with her sweet voice that he was genuinely taken aback, "No shit, Sherlock. Of course I am hurt, I just got thrown into a fucking vortex and landed god knows where, thrown straight across the bleeding room bumping into all this crap. Oh and this was after I fought off those ugly ass things for that crazy fucking old hag. And if you don't mean any harm to me then hold the fucking candle higher to your face so that I can fucking see you and assess for myself what kind of a twit you are!"

The girl had quite the mouth on her. To be honest, he felt downright indignant at her words and later he would be ashamed of it, but he was even angrier at her audacity to talk to him, a prince of the realm in this disrespectful manner. He wanted to sneer at her parentage, wasn't she taught manners properly or did her parents not have it in them to reign in their unruly daughter! The only reason he wasn't taking out his anger at her was because she was already harmed and by circumstances had fallen under his house and his protection. It would not be right to discipline an injured woman just because of her filthy mouth and atrocious etiquettes.

A part of him whispered to him, she was right to be so surly and her wariness was logical. She was thrown into a man's chambers in a violent manner in the deep of the night and she was injured, she had every reason to be in turmoil. Her condition, no matter the offense of the words she chose, was appropriate. She had no reason to trust him. She had already paid the price for trusting someone and helping them just moments before.

Damn that croon for tricking this girl, how could she? This girl clearly was brave and had noble intentions despite her lack of manners. She had jumped into to fight of attackers off an old woman because she believed it to be the right thing to do. She was betrayed by the one she was risking her life for. How could he expect her to be pliant and just turn herself over to him and his control? She did not ask for much. She simply did not want to be touched and she wanted to see the face of the man who was before her.

Taking the age old advice, one did not taunt an injured animal lest one wants to be bitten; he calmed himself and made sure his voice did not present any of the ire he felt at her behavior, as he softly coaxed, "I would, my lady, if you would only let go of my hand first."

She snapped back immediately, "Why? You don't need both of your hands to raise a candle. Or is that too difficult for you to accomplish?"

She was an impertinent little thing, wasn't she? Rhaegar was told many times that his voice was one of his best assets, it was a voice which soothed, which left an everlasting effect on people, capable of both putting people in a trance and capturing the attention of even the most obstinate. He knew he had a good singing voice but nothing more than that. Yet in that very moment he hoped and prayed that his voice reached out to her with his sincerity, honesty and promise that she was safe from him. He needed to soothe her, so in his deepest of voice he spoke softly and sincerely, "You are correct and I am quite capable of doing so, but it will be a bit awkward for both of us, my lady. I give you my word that I won't touch you without your assent."

For a moment he was filled with frustration and indignation as he heard her snort at his words, but then she but out, "Big words for a prissy twit. Fine, take your damn hand back. But don't think for one fucking second that I am some weak little girl. I am capable of and will break every bone in your body only to watch you bleed out on the ground if you so much as look at me funky."

She eased the pressure on his wrist and flung it back at him. Again, he believed every threat that came from her mouth. He believed firmly that she was very well versed in physical fighting techniques. He complimented her parents for teaching their daughter on how to protect herself, there were far too many people in the world who didn't respect, protect and care for women as they should; such dark times had come that no woman was truly safe and had to learn to protect themselves. He told her wryly, "I believe you and heed your words, my lady."

There was also the fact that he did not want to attack or restraint the girl. He did not want to make her feel threatened, mistrust him or be hurt by him in any manner possible. He knew that if she had attacked him, he could overpower her easily. She might be very proficient in many techniques of martial arts and most of them unknown to him, but he was a knight who had been training for years.

He leaned a bit closer to her and resisted the urge to massage the dull pain in his wrist; she had quite the hold, sharp, swift and effective. Very calmly and slowly he raised the candelabra higher and near both their faces, he wanted to see her face as well. His lips quirked up in a little smile at that, the face of the cheeky little girl with a filthy mouth that belonged on a fishmonger. He could almost imagine the scowl she would have on her face.

The small glow of light from the candles illuminated both their faces to each other in the darkness of the room. To be honest, Rhaegar did not notice her face or even look at it. His attention was captured completely and wholly by one single thing. From the darkest of long black strands he could see two bright eyes locked on his unblinkingly and unfalteringly.

His heart felt like it was constricting far too hard, a gasp left his lips and he heard the croon's voice echoing in his head, golden hues. That was what the croon had said, but these were not just golden hues, they were pools of molten gold burning at him. He tried but he couldn't look away. They were mysterious, uncommon and belonged in the head of a mythical beast or some majestic animal, not on the face of a disrespectful little girl. He told himself, the way her eyes were affecting him, there was nothing uncommon about them, and the light from the candles must be making them like that.

He was far too busy captivated by her eyes to notice her shocked and almost feared expression. She was not the least bit affected by him initially as he had been by her. She had done inspection and it had filled her with horror. His appearance had enraged her and horrified her, but he did not notice it. It was her angered snarl which broke him from his daze; he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in warning as he noticed how her eyes were glaring at him with the heat of a thousand suns, "What the fuck?"


	3. Chapter Two

**Hello Readers! here is the next chapter and I do hope you will like it. This one answers a lot of questions and also, what kind of a writer would I be if I didn't intrigue you guys further by creating more questions which need answers. Evil but the good kind of evil.**

**Now, a few readers have pointed out the inaccuracies in the story, for example how Tywin Lannister should still be the Hand and he resigns farther down the story line. But, I need to make something clear, everything will not be as exact as the books. There will be many changes. Call it the butterfly effect like my friend does or alternate universe. Maybe the croon's intervening changes things, or maybe Rhaegar's decision to be the change he wants to see turn things upside down and around or maybe it is the introduction of my OC that messes everything up.**

**Regardless, things will be changed according to suit my plot line. Events will be changed, timings will not match and most importantly, people, their personalities and their actions will change. Deaths will not happen or happen, couples will be kept the same, or broken up, or odd matches made, things will be different than the original details in the books.**

**I know this might sound like I am ranting but I am not. Honestly all I am trying to do is explain that this is my first time doing this. By this I mean, the whole go into the past and change the course of history theme. So I thought I needed to explain why there are so many changes and things not according to what you guys were expecting. I know things will be confusing sometimes, but even my OC won't be spared. For her sometimes nothing will make sense, because what she knows and what she experiences will be two very different things. **

**I wanted to also explain that while certain things, events, details and instances might seem like a mistake, it is most probable that I made those changes deliberately to suit my plot line. Also, fair warning, I will be disappointing many people because I will be making very big changes in the lives of many of our favorite characters. Many favorite couples will also not come to be and many characters will show a completely different side to their true personalities. Again, all these changes will be explained as the story progresses and hopefully you will find it all logical because the story will progress that way.**

**I hope you will like my new OC. She can be quite a bit of a rude, stubborn, very angry, violent and yes, a bitch. I hope you enjoy it and Please Review. Happy Reading!**

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**Disclaimer: I do not own A song of Ice and Fire...**

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**His Secret Wisdom**

**Chapter Two**

He was instantly worried. He was sure she must have hurt herself. Without a second thought and so much as a look at her face, he tried to reach at her to help her, "Pardon? Are you alright, my lady?"

The candelabra was lowered once more and it sent a cold shiver down his spine when he heard how weak and confused her soft voice sounded as she asked; where was the ferocious girl who threatened to bodily harm him, "Am I in Westeros?"

He had to ease her. He spoke clearly and reassuringly, "Yes, my lady. Are you not from here?"

He was more left feeling a deep feeling of concern, self-loathing and panic as he watched her bent figure shaking a little and quickly scurrying away from him. She couldn't go more than a foot away from him because she was in the corner of the chamber, but she made sure to keep a distant from him. He felt revulsion coiling in his stomach at himself because clearly she thought he was a monster. He swore to never put a woman in this position where a woman would think of him a monster, like so many women thought of his father.

Her voice was sharp, shrill and her words tumbling out of her mouth fast and harsh, "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Viserys? Fuck, I swear to god I will rip your arms out if you so much as point a finger at me, Viserys. I will cut your tongue out before you can say, 'Don't wake the dragon', you pale haired bastard. I am not Daenerys, you bitch."

She was not making any sense and the ill feeling in his gut brewed like a storm, his instincts were screaming at him that what she spoke of was not nonsense, but a horrible truth. He was just as panicked as she was but he kept his calm mask on, he had to be calm to calm her. How could he possibly make her understand that he was not this Viserys and the monster she was accusing him of being. This monster was clearly someone she loathed and at the same time held a fear of.

He could hear her sharp breathing, she was swiftly getting up her defenses and he was sure that any moment now she would leap at him in an attack. This Viserys and this Daenerys she spoke of, clearly the former was the monster and the latter one of the helpless victims, because she was making it clear over and over again how she was nothing like this Daenerys.

What was freezing him from saying anything and so much as moving a muscle were some of her very specific words; the mention of dragon and his physical appearance, those were the very traits only common to Targaryens. No other person in all of the Seven Kingdoms had pale hair and had a connection to dragons. This Viserys was a Targaryen and of that he was sure of, but the question remained, who was Viserys? He was the prince of Dragonstone and he did not know of any Viserys Targaryen nor had he ever heard of a Daenerys.

Rhaegar pleaded softly, praying that his voice reached out to her once more, "My lady, please. Please calm down. I am not this Viserys you speak off, I swear to you. You are mistaking me with him."

There was a pause, then a sharp intake of breath. He hoped that he had finally broken her out of the fear she was slowly pushing herself into. She had to see that he wasn't who she thought he was. She had to see that she could trust his word and his honor. She had to see that he would not harm her.

After a few stunned moments of silence her voice came back and she fired one question after another, her voice firm and demanded a prompt answer to her inquiry, "Wait. What? Aegon, then? Aegon, is it you?"

Who was this now? Aegon? Another Targaryen he didn't know about? What did this one do? He had seen how easily the previous rigid tension and fear had slipped away from her as she asked him if he was Aegon rather than Viserys. This Aegon was clearly not a threat to her or at least she did not consider him to be. There was still plenty of wariness left in her. He felt frustrated that he was not making any progress with her. He swiftly swore to himself, if this Viserys came before him, he would do whatever it took to keep her safe from him and the same went for this Aegon.

He explained once more, and again he made sure he was sincere when said it, he could not afford to have any negative emotion in his voice which she could get even more suspicious about, "I beg your pardon, my lady. But you are mistaken once more. I am neither Viserys nor this Aegon you speak of. My name is Rhaegar Targaryen and I…"

She cut right in the middle of his words and Rhaegar couldn't remember a time when he was interrupted mid-sentence before. This stunned him into silence as did her shocked expletives, "Well, fuck. Shit. Shit. Shit. That in-fucking-sane old hag. What the fuck did she do? She really sent me to Westeros or I am really tripping on some awesome pain meds in the hospital. Fuck."

Gods of the old and new, her mouth knew no rest from the filth that she spewed and it did not offend him in the least bit. A part of him smiled when he heard her angry, sharp curses, it was a part of her. She was fearless, didn't care who thought what about her, she spoke what she thought and there was always something like fire burning in her words, bold, fierce, passionate and alive. She was nothing like the demure and flirty girls who held themselves as to how men wanted them. Her curses made her more impressive and fascinating to him. What kind of girl had that much confidence in the manner she spoke? She had bravado that men twice her age did not possess.

He did not know what this 'hospital' was or 'meds' for that matter. He assumed that these were things from where she came from. He made a mental note to ask her about it sometime in the future. He did get the reference to pain, if associated with her injuries and the croon, it was a logical conclusion that she was wondering if some herb or concoction was used on her to help with the pain which made her hallucinate, like the milk of poppy for example.

He smiled wryly and assured her, "My lady, if it is the blind cackling croon you speak of, then you are in Westeros and I may be of help to you."

He had generously offered his help and what any person in her position would have done was accept it graciously. She continued to adamantly boggle him and try her best to light his temper on fire. She was infuriating. Her reply had shocked him cold.

She threw back scathingly, her voice dripping poison, "Fuck your help. I don't need help from a selfish twit like you. Where the hell is Elia or did you leave her already for Lyanna?"

It was undignified and his years of training as a prince forbid it, but right then he was left gaping like a fish. He didn't know how to respond to theat. A large part of him exclaimed that she was mad, completely and utterly mad. But then he remembered this woman was sent to him by the old croon who was considered mad as well. This woman was lucid and like the croon talked of things which did not make sense. The croon was undeniably famous for her visions which came true and so whatever utter nonsense this woman spoke of at least had a little bit of truth to them.

Maybe she was confusing him with someone else once more. That could be it. He did not even want to consider those impossible, offending and utterly unbearable accusations that she threw at him. She was a lonely, injured woman under his protection, he would not be angry at her even if she was insulting him in such a manner. He had to be patient with her, even though he was frustrated and his temper flared out with the sheer unfairness of her words. It hurt that she would deem him so low and vile, that she could even think that he used women in such a manner, that he had no honor. She truly did not trust him and clearly had no intention of trusting him and that stung him and his pride.

He tried his best, but there was an indignant tone in his words, his honor demanded that he bury the baseless accusations made on him, "My lady, I do not understand. Why would you search for this Elia and Lyanna? Why would they be in my presence at this hour of the night? I assure you, I am an honorable man and because of your recent tragedy I am not taking any offense at your vile implications. I have never compromised any lady before and certainly never disgraced a woman by leaving her for another."

In the dark of the room and the storm howling outside he saw and heard her slap a hand with some force on the floor. She huffed and growled in exasperation and frustration, "Shut up. None of this is making any sense and you will do exactly what you are claiming not to do in the near future. You will leave a good woman for another because you will claim that it was for love. Your actions will bring ruin to uncountable good people."

Her words were like daggers to his heart. She continued to spit out venomously, "You are a self-centered, thoughtless, irresponsible, impetuous, shameless, insensitive, arrogant man who proved to be just another mad Targaryen by actions alone even if your sanity remains intact."

Rhaegar had enough of her. Amusement at bold words from a woman was one thing, keeping composure and having a heart of steel in the face of tragedy and grave circumstances was one thing, being the latest trick from the croon was one thing, but going this far with her malicious words and relentlessly attacking his honor and pride was going far too far.

His voice was like the sharp whip cracking through a silent room as he warned her coldly, "My lady, I ask you to mind your words. I have been considerate thus far and ignored your repeated offenses because you have gone through a very traumatic experience and because I know how frightening the blind croon can be. Be assured that I will not tolerate such words any longer and there will be consequences."

It was a match between two snarling and roaring bears. If one roared loudly, the other roared louder and the process continued. She spit back, angrier and surlier than before, her voice the very essence of Winter in the North, "Consequences my ass. If that blind old bat told me any grain of truth then I already know that you are tricked in some crazy way by her too. You will not condemn me or serve me with any punishment simply because you need me."

Despite the anger that burned in him, she managed to impress him once again. She was angry and seemingly throwing baseless malicious accusations at him, but if so then how did her brain work out such logic in the chaos of anger consuming her mind? She was right, he wouldn't hurt her or punish her. Not yet at least. She had a talent for reading in between lines and observing and assessing things.

He informed her darkly, "You place far too much worth on yourself."

She goaded him, "Really? You don't have that good of a poker face. Look me right in the eye and tell me you don't need me or my help."

He did not know what this poker face was but he assumed it was something in reference to when a person lied. He almost petulantly wanted to snap back that it was far too dark to look at her, just as it was too dark for her to see his face and tell him that he was lying. But the entire truth was that he needed her help just as much as she needed his. But she did not want his help nor his protection, but he needed to have her around because she was chosen by the croon and she had a purpose to serve, he was sure of it. Then there was the matter of her being the object of his fascination, he wasn't going to let go of that so easily. He needed his answers first.

He told her simply, "I need not do anything."

Her reply was fast and dripping with sarcasm, "Of course you don't need anything, but you do need me and you cannot lie about it and later on ask me for help because your pride would not let you."

Her words, no matter how true, were irritating him beyond no measure. She was pushing him too much and everybody in all of Westeros knew that it was a very bad idea to push a Targaryen too far. He retorted back frostily, "My lady, as far as I can tell it is your pride which needs to be kept in check as well as that awful tongue of yours. You need my help far more than I need yours. You are the one who is injured, alone and without any resource in this strange unknown world."

Her reply was as sharp and quick as a whip cracking, "You forget, you royal twit, I am not like those sniveling, fainting, delicate and beyond stupid women you are used to."

Rhaegar threw back uncaringly, having had enough and completely prepared to give her a taste of her own medicine, "I noticed and you have proved so time and time again in the few moments we have been acquainted. Yet, despite my continuous compassion, kindness, courtesy and forgiveness towards you, you are the one who throws accusations at me for actions I am innocent of and have not even dreamed of doing. You are the one who uses atrocious language at me while I try to comfort you. You are the one who has been condemning me from the moment you knew my identity yet I am more than willing to let go of each and every slander you make at me, each time you verbally besmirch my honor and not make you face the consequences of your actions as my honor demands it."

Everything was quiet and the silence between them thick with tension. Despite there not being more than a few footsteps between them, it felt like they were leagues apart. Rhaegar did not know what went inside her head, what she thought and how she felt but he knew one thing for sure, his words had hit their intended target. Her silence was more than enough to make him feel content as he waited crouched on the floor waiting for her response.

She was going over his words, swallowing their meaning and the truth behind them. If her temper was anything to go by, he had to be prepared for a very violent outburst. Because his words couldn't possibly do anything to her except hurt her ego and make her temper boil over. He couldn't even see her face to determine her mood. He blinked once; actually all he had seen and taken note of was her unusual eyes. He didn't even see her face, only those molten gold eyes.

Molten gold wasn't as beautiful as it looked; it was gold and it was precious, it inspired greed and mesmerized one with its natural beauty, but it was all deception for molten gold could never be achieved, it burned one's skin right through to reach within. She was like that as well, all fire and not quite what she seemed. She was not soft and malleable like the other women; she was strong and ferocious to a point of violence. Rhaegar mused, one could only watch her from afar; get too close and she would burn them irreparably.

Once more that most prominent trait of hers shined through; that trait being her unpredictability. Instead of snarling at him in rage, spitting fire and scratching his eyes out like a cat, she huffed. She huffed in the grumpiest manner Rhaegar had ever heard from anyone and grumbled petulantly, "Fine. So maybe I went a little over board with all the things that make you one of the characters I dislike, but that does not mean that what I said was any less untrue. It was all truth, but I guess I could just be a bit civil with you and not say what I truly feel."

Rhaegar had to blink a few times and even resisted the urge to punch himself, did she just, could she possibly have, was that some twisted form of apology? He couldn't help it and his lips twitched into a grin. It was an apology, at least the closest apology he could have ever hoped to get from her. She had not taken offense to his words and actually listened to him. She compromised in her own way and that gave him hope. Hope for a truce and possibly for a future alliance.

He decided to take a different method than behaving exactly as she did. Heated words and vile accusations would not make her amendable let alone make a bridge between the two of them. But that also did not mean that he would be entirely too soft on her and let her walk all over him. He needed to get an edge over her, maybe reach her through logic and steer her with words.

He kept his voice even, soft and made damn sure that his voice dripped with disappointment, "My lady, what you accuse me of, I haven't done yet, so it is all false to me in this moment. I pray that it will always remain false to me. I would never be a dishonorable man and bring such disgrace to not one but two women. I never want to treat any woman like that, believe that much if nothing else of me."

After a few moments of tense silence where Rhaegar held his breath finally hoping that his sincerity reached her, a soft sigh reached his ears. In the darkness of the night, he couldn't and didn't stop the grin from spreading wide across his face as he heard her grumble, "Damn you. You can guilt trip better than an Irish-catholic mother. I am not going to feel guilty though. I am right in my way and you are right in yours. So there, a stalemate."

In that very instant he felt giddy. He felt the same frisson of satisfaction, pleasure and pride he usually felt when he achieved something he worked hard for. He had just achieved something monumental as well. He had laid the very first stone of foundation in whatever this association with this strange ferocious woman would be. Their partnership had just begun and he had somehow managed to come to a little civility with her. She was still plenty defensive and paranoid, but the constant rage had cooled a little.

He almost laughed out loud, but forced himself not to. No need to agitate the easily irate girl any further. He didn't mean to guilt her, but he understood her comment about certain mothers guilt their children into doing certain things. He didn't know what this Irish-catholic was, but he assumed they were a people of some location she knew of. She was stubborn and he mused, it wasn't unattractive at all; it had its own appeal and he liked how everything about her was not easy at all.

He said to her softly and as charmingly as he could without coming off as too strong or gods forbid flirtatious to her, "I am very happy with that. I only want for there to be not so much hostility between us, my lady. I would hate it for you to not speak your mind and your feelings. Please speak to me freely, only with a little less hostility and a little more chance for me to prove myself before you condemn me."

For the first time since she came to be in his chambers, her voice was devoid of all that boiling anger. She conceded and apologized, "Whatever. I guess I am sorry for making you feel like you would hurt women. That wasn't right of me to make you feel that low of yourself. You might be selfish and a womanizer later on, but you will never be violent and hurtful to a woman. If nothing else, you will never become like your father, Rhaegar Targaryen. You aren't mad and you aren't cruel."

Her words, although not the most conventional of apologies, still acted like a balm to the wounds she had inflicted to his pride and honor. For some reason, he felt lighter and that constant self-loathing and insecurity about becoming a man like his father eased considerably when she told him confidently that he was nothing like his father. He felt overwhelming relief that even if she didn't trust him with anything else, she trusted him not to harm him in all the heinous ways a man could harm a woman. So she knew with complete surety that he was nothing like that Viserys she talked of before.

He was not mad and he was not cruel, her words echoed in his head and he smiled. There was also that small matter of fact that he liked very much how his name sounded from her lips. He really did want to see how her lips formed his name.

She sounded firm and sincere, the sweet voice was like caresses to his spine; he mused, she can sing, songs of hope, melancholy, love, stories, life, lullabies and of course, seduction. He smirked a little; her voice was made for whispering sweet nothings in one's ears in passion and begging for even sweeter release while being tormented in the most delicious of ways. How ironic was it that a woman with that kind of voice, a voice that is capable of stirring a man's passions, never says a soft word. She used her words to cut men open and watch them bleed as she breathed fire like a dragon.

He answered her with a large grin that she couldn't see but hear in his voice, "I accept your apology, my lady."

There was a snooty sniff and then true to her form, she snipped back, "But you are arrogant."

He grinned even wider; there she was, back breathing fire. He was very pleased to know that her soft and warm moments were very rare and completely against her ferocious personality and he had been the one to witness and share such a rare and intimate moment of hers. No matter, he would find many more moments such as that, his curiosity regarding her was only increasing by every passing moment and every heated or otherwise word exchanged.

He replied back charmingly, not the least bit offended, "I suppose that comes with the territory of being who I am. You seem to know a lot about that."

She drawled, "You mean how you are the crown prince and all that jazz."

He didn't know what this jazz was; he observed out loud, "You have an odd manner of speaking and I do mean that as a compliment."

She snorted, not the least bit charmed or offended and argued back, "No, you mean that as an oddity and just that. Nothing complimentary about it. Work on your diplomatic skills, man. Is this how you are going to speak to an emissary who comes to your kingdom from another kingdom or like myself, another world?"

He really liked how her mind worked. How she argued passionately and how utterly fearless she was, he couldn't help but be intrigued. There was not another woman like her in all of Westeros, at least not that he knew of. His mood was not going to be ruined by anything she said. Now he knew her character and how being prickly was a part of her personality and most of what she said she meant it. He was far too ecstatic from her apology not a moment ago and that declaration of how she knew his character to be not of a vile man who hurt women for his satisfaction. Her trust in him and this truce forming between them had brightened his mood too much for him to scowl.

Besides, she always threw back a few criticisms for every seemingly nice word she spoke. He teased back, "Many apologies then, my lady. I will work on fixing myself."

She huffed, "See that you do, Targaryen."

How bold of her, throwing orders at the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms. His lips twitched to smile at her; gods he hadn't smiled this much in weeks and she had managed to do it with her barbed words and downright stinging insults. He pointed out fairly and again, as charmingly as he could, "The fact still remains, you know who I am and many things about me, I am at a disadvantage, my lady. I do not even know your name."

She retorted without even the slightest of pauses, "With who you are and the life you have, you are at a crap load of disadvantages. Not knowing anything about someone like me is the least of it."

He smirked; she had an answer for everything and never gave in. He smiled mischievously and flirted back, "Be that as it may, I would still like to know the name of the fair lady who possesses such intimate knowledge regarding myself."

There was aggravation and frustration in her voice as she demanded, "Why do you need to know my name? I am not going to stick around here for much longer. I need to get home."

For a moment his heart ached for her and all he could feel for her was compassion. Despite her fearlessness and unbreakable strength, even those fiery words could not hide how she was in fact a girl alone in an unfamiliar place and the truth was that she wanted to go home as it was her right. She was taken by force and she was far from accepting it.

She was going to fight against the croon and her powers, being scared of the croon was not something she would do let alone give in to the croon. He admired her spirit. Still he had to reach out to her, comfort her, explain it to her, because the truth was that she was not going anywhere until whatever the croon had planned came to pass, "My lady, I don't think the croon has planned such a short trip for you."

She snorted dismissively, "Like I would ever do what someone else plans for me to do."

He agreed wholeheartedly and explained pleasantly, "I understand. I assure you I feel much the same way, my lady. The croon also has something planned for me but tells me nothing but befuddling riddles."

Rhaegar couldn't help but chuckle when he heard her let out a little growl of exasperation. She snapped, although not angry at all, just a little irritated, "You need to seriously stop with the 'my lady' bit. It's getting on my nerves."

He decided he quite liked getting on her nerves, it was far too amusing. He felt mischievous, which was odd because he never felt like just teasing around someone for the sake of enjoying it. His life had always been far too solemn with a lot of responsibilities and pressure on his shoulders and with the darkness of his father's shadow, he never did quite laugh as much as any other man.

He learned that she didn't quite have the patience for flirtations and charms. His overtly polite ways, honeyed words, flirtations and charms made her irate. He couldn't help but smirk wickedly at the future prospect of teasing her with this very ammunition. He asked her sweetly, "Oh. What would you prefer I call you by then? Perhaps by your given name."

His throat tickled with a laugh when she hissed at him, "You're a persistent twit, aren't you?"

This time he replied without any hesitation, leaving behind his years of etiquette and propriety lessons, "Persistent, yes. Twit, no. May I offer my assistance to get you seated to a much comfortable seat? Perhaps a cushioned chair as opposed to the cold floor?"

He let out a sharp breath of incredulous laughter after she deadpanned, "Yes, that would be doing a much appreciated favor to my ass."

He asked dryly, yet amusement shone through his voice, "You like scandalizing people, don't you?"

She replied back solemnly, "Just like you like suffocating people with your oozing teeth-gritting and thoroughly unnecessary decorum. I prefer blunt and honest words as opposed to honeyed words with hidden meanings and even worse hidden intentions."

His lips quivered to smile, yet the deep implications of her last statement made his heart clench for a moment. She would hate politics. But despite that, her initial comment tickled his playful side which lay dormant within him for years. He would make it a personal mission to tease her and rile her up with his, how did she put it, ah yes, oozing teeth-gritting and thoroughly unnecessary decorum. He agreed with her, he valued honesty above all else as well, "Indeed."

He set the candelabra aside, and because it was his chambers and he was very familiar with every inch of the room, he walked slowly and confidently over to her making sure to make noise and not startle her or worse yet, send her into a complete defense. He did not want her to get hurt further on the account of trying to needlessly fend him off with physical assaults. His stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought of restraining her physically.

Just as he was near her and about to lean over and offer her his assistance to carry her to a more comfortable seat, she snapped, "I can get up by myself and can walk on my two feet. I don't need you to treat me like an invalid."

He noticed something he hadn't noticed before; she smelt sweet. So heavenly sweet, some kind of spice which tickled his senses sensually and made his mouth water; for the life of him he couldn't guess what she smelt like, all he knew was that she was doused in that scent and he felt like drowning. He was dazed and for a moment all he could do was close his eyes and breathe in deep. He swiftly shook it of or at least tried to, his mind was going very quickly to the worst path possible and he was far too honorable to ever go there. He bit his lower lip to keep in a groan.

He opened his eyes to realize in through disgust and shame that while he was busy sniffing at her like a dog and having these shameful sensations, she in her weakness and such injury had stood up shakily with the support of the wall behind her. Rhaegar had never felt such blatant shame before, and he was grateful for the darkness, he knew he had turned red in shame like he was supposed to. Where did all his years of etiquette, proper manners and those vows and ways of knighthood gone, he berated himself in self-loathing and mortification.

He somehow managed to hastily retort and this time adamantly offer her his hands to hold, "I am doing no such thing. You are injured, I was offering my help and my propriety dictates for me to help a lady in need."

She let his hands hang between them as she declared indignantly, "I am the farthest thing from the usual breed of overtly sensitive, ridiculously delicate and materialistic minded ladies you are used to. If I need help from you, I will ask for it."

He spoke to her, his voice low, deep and earnest, "I noticed how unique you are. I am here to help, my lady. I will offer it even if you don't ask because I can also tell you are quite prideful and I couldn't bear it if you were inconvenienced or hurt further more on my account."

Still she did not take his offered hand, standing against the wall, trying to find strength in her to walk along side him. He decided not to move away and block her against the wall until she took his hand. Without his guidance, in the darkness she wouldn't be able to move in his chambers. He could be more stubborn than her and it was time she knew it.

She argued back, "Who said I was hurt because of you in the first place? I was hurt because I tried to help an old woman in the street from things which were attacking her even though I knew from before she was a raving lunatic."

Even though her pride and this strange sense of independence and iron defense she had around her was vexing him a little, especially because she was rejecting him and his help time and time again; he admired her more than before. She risked her life to help an old woman who from her own words could be derived that made her uncomfortable. Honor, he smiled at her warmly in the darkness, she had honor; something so very rare in women, especially the kind of honor which leads to risking one's life so recklessly.

He made another remarkable observation of her. The calmer she got, the less crude her language had gotten. His eyes tried to rake over the dark shadow where her face was, now she spoke like any other high-born lady, although the interesting words she chose, the passion in her voice, the cunning logic and the sheer intelligence in her arguments, the fearlessness in her, all of that set her apart from any of the high-born ladies he knew. He just knew it deep in his bones that every time she talked with such fire, she looked or in this case would look him right in the eye, the fire in her words reflecting in her eyes. He just knew it and the thought of fire burning in those golden eyes that he but only got a glimpse of before sent thrills of anticipation throughout his body.

He told her the truth that had been plaguing him since she appeared in his chambers, "Perhaps because she sent you here to me and in the process she has hurt you."

There was a low groan from her and she instantly berated him, "Seriously, man, you need to stop blaming yourself for every little thing. This habit of yours gets really annoying really fast."

Despite being scolded like a child, it warmed his heart to know how much unknowingly she exposed to him. It mattered to her that he felt guilt; guilt that she did not want him to be burdened with. He knew it then that even though she was angry, defensive, and uncompromising most of the time, she was going to going be an ally at some point. She had compassion, kindness, honor and she was clearly above average intelligence.

He teased, "I apologize once more then, my lady."

She huffed, "Okay, now I know you are just doing it to annoy me."

He answered honestly, "Only sometimes."

She retorted dryly, "Good god, the prissy prince setting his arrogance aside to be all playful, must be the end of the world."

He rolled his eyes at her, "I am not that bad."

She disagreed, "You are. You are very uptight and I just met you."

In her own way, she was teasing him or at least he hoped she was. He really could not tell if she was jesting or not. But he felt optimistic about finding out more about her, so much more that soon he would be able to read her very well. His fascination with her was really taking root in him and he had no problems whatsoever about it. Most importantly, his gut told him that she was going to prove to be a useful ally in his quest. How he knew that, he couldn't quite explain or understand himself. But he just knew it deep in his bones that the connection both he and his guest shared with the mad croon was something very significant. His guest was very much related to his problems. Now all he had to do was help her, keep her safe and figure her out while he waited on the croon's promised 'wisdom' to fall in his lap.

For now he was glad to be finally distracted from all his worries; he was finally free of that cloud of tension, stress and worry had eased considerably as soon as he found this enigma in his chambers. For the first time in a very long time his mind was intrigued by something and he felt something very close to passion and inspiration just as he met his fascinating guest. He felt lighter and surprisingly enough, his mood was a little jovial and playful as well.

In the very few moments he had known her, her presence was changing something in him and he was willing to bet that it had something to do with the croon and her mad ways. There was something of the croon's scheme brewing and simmering around them both. They had to ally themselves to each other in order to survive the journey he knew the croon had pushed them into.

His declared mockingly, "Then I fear I must abandon all my mercy and start to really annoy you at every waking moment, then and only then, you will abandon this accusation you have labeled me with."

There was a snort from her and then she deadpanned, "In that case, a fair warning, I will punch your teeth out."

He grinned wide in the dark.


End file.
